Last year we were four months behind in mortgage when the benevolent folks at Popular Mortgage Company stepped up and offered us ' out of the blue ' a personal finance loan: $23,000 at a biannual interest rate of only 34%. We were warned by my Great Aunt Weltly that the group had ties to the Philadelphia mafia scene but they seemed to be friendly enough, though, so we accepted their offer. Darn rumors. Great Aunt Weltly is just jealous of our windfall; just like she was jealous when we got our car back from the impound lot before her. I wish she wasn't so self-centered because she makes an extremely tasty carrot cake and brews only the best coffees. I miss the days of chatting around her kitchen table, munching on cake and talking about the weather. But ever since Ron, her pet ferret passed away two years ago she's just become nasty.

PMC also generously said that we could have the first April of every leap year interest-free. Sophie's birthday is in April so it'll be nice to have the extra cash on hand. This year we'd like to have her doll's hair reattached. Poor thing. Sophie just cried and cried like you wouldn't believe when that mean little Molly Peterson ' while being a guest in our own home ' tore off the hair in handfuls, leaving it all in the bathroom sink. Talk about a little piece of work! Anyway, PMC's offer sounded like a super deal, so that's why we took it.
I'd been unemployed for a long time at that point and we became desperate for any money we could get our hands on. I sold books, plasma and some skin from my back. Valerie donated an eye at the hospital and Sophie quickly adapted life without her pinky toes. I also discovered that prostitution is not nearly the high-dollar profession that it apparently used to be. Between bail and the cost of thongs we still had difficulty having ends meet (no pun intended).

We disconnected our phone, took to eating small packets of mayonnaise and a little bit of, I am ashamed to say, refuse. Okay, it was garbage. There, I said it. But we didn't dig for our food! No, we wouldn't go that far ' I mean we have some dignity afterall. We only took what was right under the lid, that's all ' I swear! We even got to the point where we thought about putting in a change of address but then realized there would be nowhere to forward our subscription to Entertainment Weekly.

Unfortunately we missed our first two payments because in January of this year we were ruined by a tsunami which sparked a fire in the basement. The flooding prevented the house from burning too badly but the asbestos insulation and lead paint needed to be removed by professionals. A team was recommended by our local HAZMAT officials and, after checking both Home Depot and Lowe's for a do-it yourself kit we ended up going with their referral. We also had serious smoke damage to the sofa which was particularly bad for Valerie since she had recently crocheted a pair of armrest covers out of the dog's hair and dust bunnies. It was very creative and they were very soft and pretty. Saddest of all though was the loss of our beloved Norman Rockwell posters that had decorated the living room and the foyer. I know we'll replace them some day but they really added a homey touch that you just can't get with anything else. Tragically, Fluffy, our mixed breed Kyoto Spaniel, suffered burns over 52% of her body and now resembles some cruel poodle fantasy held by I'm sure a woman wearing a floral print dress and living in central Nebraska. We managed to get through that fairly well though and have changed her name to Funky. I thought Fleshy would be more appropriate but that got voted out as being too cruel. Needless to say that we won't be getting any armrest covers from her again anytime soon.

Well, as is our luck, we weren't able to come up with any more money when it came due. I made several phone calls to family and friends but we're all just run of the mill middle-class folks so no one was able to help us out. The Jacksons needed reserve money for the bondsman. The Millers were in the middle of trying to refinance their home. And the Adams have been out of commission since Andy, that poor little fellow, took that blow to his head from that piggish looking squirrel. They've spent all of their money on sterile needles and bandages just to keep the swelling of his brain down - those pesky squirrels. I'm sure that the Johnstons could have helped us out if they really wanted to but they weren't willing to part with the trailer they rent to their meth addict cousins.

Bastards.

Needless to say we didn't come up with the money. I remember trying to request a deferral for additional time and being disappointed when PMC turned us down. Apparently they insisted that we 'pay up'� immediately the $42,000 (Principal plus that confounded interest rate) but when we told them we couldn't afford to pay them they took ' rather abruptly from what I understand, both a kidney and my left lung. They also promised, so far as I know based upon what Valerie tells me, to come back in three months for appendages should we fail to come up with the money. Valerie tells me that it was at that time that I fell into my shock-induced coma.

Last month I regained consciousness. According to Valerie I was home for two months confined to the Home Healthcare brand iron lung that PMC rented to us at a deep discount. It's sustained me rather well from what I know through my brief coma and recovery. I came out of the coma six weeks ago today and started walking again two weeks ago this past Sunday but unfortunately my speech is still a bit slurred. I'm also starting to get my memory back.

I guess from experience they (PMC) realize that it's better to have debtors living in a protective bubble or on a good, solid respirator so that there's at least a chance that they can get their money someway. I remember now that PMC told me when we took out the loan that there's a group in Seattle who traffics in salvaged body parts for research that they work with, the only requirement being that the necessary part be less than three days old. PMC said that they'd come for appendages first. They'd start with my arms, legs, and, if in a pinch, my penis, and then they go for my ears, eyes, and tongue before doing anything more invasive. I believe that they'll then start with my spleen and pancreas and, if I recall correctly, bits of my spine and ribs, but I don't recall specifically. After that it's just whatever they can get their hands on. They tell me that in the end it's pretty lucrative for them even though they did have to pay for Antonio Faravelle to go to med school.

Anyway, it's only through the grace of God that I awoke when I did. The battery on the iron lung was about to go kaput because we're late again on the electricity. The power company ' rivals to PMC ' had us disconnected three weeks ago but fortunately the reserve battery kicked in. I don't know where the miracle came from but the battery has sustained enough power to help me reach this milestone where I no longer need it.

I'm sorry to say though that Tony ' whose real name I found out recently is really Carlisle ' paid us what I thought was just going to be a cordial cheese and crackers type meeting last week to discuss the original loan terms again and prepare me for my forthcoming surgeries but I'm sad to say that they were there for my left arm and right shin bone. Let me tell you ' don't believe the naysayers - surgery does in fact require some sort of anesthesia.

I'm trying to look on the bright side of things for now though because they've left me with my right arm intact and have, though no guarantees, knowing that I'm a writer, to let me have it for as long as possible. It's been a challenge to type on the keyboard, particularly when I need to use the shift key, and playing my French horn will remain a thing of the past.

Tony phoned two days ago to tell me that they'll be coming for my right foot and left shoulder blade next Wednesday. I think that's very considerate of him, don't you? I mean he didn't have to call. He could have just shown up and taken them.

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